"There's a rumour in internet land that there will be no more Top Gears this year," he declared. "I'm afraid that apart from an Xmas special, it's true. Would love to be back in the autumn but Sunday nights then will be full of fat people singing."

The reference, obviously, is to Simon Cowell's X Factor – and clearly, there is to be disappointment for those of us who hoped the two shows would become embroiled in the ratings battle equivalent of Stalingrad, inflicting heavy casualties on both sides, and causing the opposing commanders to develop debilitating nervous tics, as the German and Russian generals did.

But it seems that "going up against Cowell" – not in a gay way, as I'm sure both Simon and Jeremy would be at frantic pains to point out – is something those swashbucklers at Top Gear are scared to do. "Top Gear is a medium-sized van," Clarkson continued. "Cowell is a juggernaut." (In Transformers slash fiction, they could still totally get it on. Be gentle with him, Optimus Prime!) "When he has finished his singing competition, our new series will start."

So there you have it. But what Jeremy's slightly wounded pronouncement fails to make explicit is the fact that, given the choice, much of his projected audience would prefer to watch "fat people singing" than "paunchy blokes recreating the Algonquin round table in a Vauxhall". This seems a baffling oversight.

In Clarkson's head, the great Top Gear/X Factor Venn diagram consists of two discrete sets, entitled "People who like Top Gear" and "Idiots who like The X Factor". There is no intersection. Yet in the head and calculators of people who actually know about these things, there is clearly such a significant overlap between the two audiences as to render the scheduling of Top Gear against The X Factor an act of self-sabotage on a par with putting Hollyoaks up against Corrie.

So please, Jeremy, a little less of the withering contempt for the viewer. It's all very well insulting Mexicans and Indians and public sector workers other than yourself, and claiming that the energy-saving mode on your telly makes all programmes look like they're "being presented by Lenny Henry in a cave". But casting aspersions on the preferences of your own audience seems to be the first genuinely audacious thing you have ever done.